Void of Darkness
by Miandrethal
Summary: There is strange person in Crawford's past that makes Schuldich jealous. This is my first Weiss Kreuz Fic so please be gentle!!!
1. Default Chapter

Author's Note: This is my first Weiss Fic, so please be gentle J It's actually more about Schwarz than anything else.

Disclaimer: If I owned Weiss, they'd always be nakedJ

Chapter 1

The steamy, musty, sweat-soaked breeze slapped Schuldich and Crawford in the face as they exited the buzzing airport terminal. The prickly palm trees jutted happily from the ground signaling that they were no longer in Tokyo. Crawford removed his black spectacles from his face, wiped the clammy condensation from his lenses and placed them back on. The humidity was enough to remind them, if the tropical scenery didn't, that Tokyo was thousands of air miles away. Schuldich scoffed as he pulled his rose-tinted sunglasses down from their trademark place at the top of his head to cover his eyes from the beaming sun.

"So this is Rio?" Schuldich stated scornfully as he tried to hail a cab. The green vehicle buzzed by him and he cursed silently in German and leaned back dramatically on his luggage and eyed Crawford. Schuldich hadn't been in Brazil for longer than ten minutes and he already despised the country. It was too hot, the cab drivers were obviously inattentive and rude and to make matters worse, he hadn't a clue why he was there; Crawford had left him clueless, he couldn't even break down the Pre-cog's mental shields to pick at his brain about the mission. The German huffed in frustration and practically ripped off his green trench and threw it over his shoulder.

"Scheiße" Schuldich muttered as he paced the length of the waiting station outside of the terminal. He paced and muttered indistinguishable German curses while Crawford tried to hail a cab. Schuldich eyed the American, his hand up, shoulders tense and erect, back somewhat arched; he'd always admired the poise that Crawford exuded in everything, including his taxi hailing. Of course the cab would stop for him, Crawford exuded a confidence that couldn't be ignored. Without saying a word, Schuldich grabbed his bag and hopped into the green cab next to Crawford.

"Hotel De Cristal Da Praia" Crawford blurted over the loud ethnic music to the driver and the man sped off with a jerk through the whirling traffic. Schuldich's face was twisted into a mask of disgust; the cab was an FDA nightmare. It smelled of rotten fish, a pail of chum lying in the front seat next to the driver. Obviously there was not an exhaust law in Brazil, considering that the man was single-handedly widening the hole in the ozone with the amount of exhaust that his tiny car was emitting. Schuldich expected that the man was a fisher on his off time; the man wore a pair of torn shorts, broken foam flip-flops, and a holey, white buttoned down t-shirt.

**I hate this place** Schuldich tested Crawford's mental receptors.

**We've only been here thirty minutes.**

**This has been thirty minutes too long** Schuldich managed to sound miffed even in his mind.

**We're going to be here for a while, so put your personal opinions about this country behind you**

**But Bradkins, the humidity is hell on my hair** Schuldich practically purred back. His face was aligned with a coquettish smirk and when he received Crawford's customary glare he returned it with a flirty wink. Schuldich loved when he got under Crawford's skin. Out of all of Schwarz, he was the only one that was ever able to make the stoic, detached American show some signs of feeling, even if it was always annoyance or anger. If it wasn't for his own need for complete attention from Crawford, Schuldich would have given up a long time ago.

The green car jolted to the left lane and turned quickly into the front of the large hotel. The Hotel De Cristal Da Praia was a resort complete with a small disco that seemed to already have a party going on. Schuldich smirked and started to sway his hips as the thumping bass of the music hit his ears. Crawford quickly exited and paid for the cab and led them both into the lobby to check-in. While Crawford checked into the condo that was provided by Eszet, Schuldich looked around at the hotel brochures. He scanned the multi-colored, multi-pictured pamphlets about the events of the hotel. There was obviously a large party called Carnival that was happening this week. Schuldich eyed the photos of the large floats, the flowing alcohol, and the beautiful people and decided that Brazil might not be such a bad place after all. Schuldich pocketed the leaflet and smirked as the bellboy took his and Crawford's baggage and led them down the hallway.

The condo was nice complete with a fully stocked kitchen, a living room with a mediocre entertainment center, two bedrooms and two bathrooms. The condo was also situated by the beach so that if they opened the glass sliding door, the sound of the roaring waves could be heard. Schuldich stretched his arms over his head and plopped down solidly on the coral colored couch and turned on the TV. Crawford tipped the bellboy the customary fee and turned to see the orange-haired German in utter relaxation.

"Don't get too comfortable, we have work to do," Crawford said straightening his tie and walking to block the television. Schuldich gave him a look of disdain and sat up popping his back in the process.

"Can't we just relax, Mein Führer, we just got off a sixteen hour flight," Schuldich wined and flipped over onto his stomach and buried his head into the soft cushions of the sofa.

"It's only jet lag, and if you fall asleep now your sleep cycle will be off the rest of the time here." Crawford merely stated as a fact. There was no sign of actual caring in his voice he was simply making sure that Schuldich was functional. 

"I just wanted to get something to eat, watch some TV, and take a nap."

"The programs are all in Portuguese, it would be futile," Crawford said turning away from the television and walking back towards the kitchen. He opened the refrigerator door and stared upon a bare refrigerator.

"And if you want something to eat, you're going to have to get up." Crawford slammed the door and turned back to Schuldich who was looking at him with exhaustion. Jet lag was a horrible feeling and though Crawford felt it himself he needed to be alert for the mission later that night.

Schuldich rolled over on his stomach and pushed his head under the small cushion on the couch. He then pulled his green trench, which he'd been using as a small cover over his head so he wouldn't have to talk to Crawford. The American eyed the redhead and sighed; Schuldich could be such a child sometimes. Instead of walking over to Schuldich and pulling him up from the couch, Crawford pulled on the white suit jacket and started towards the door. He was so close to the condo exit that he had his hand poised on the doorknob.

"If you want to starve that's fine with me, but don't let it affect the mission tonight." The American was always cold with his words. He never sounded comforting or reassuring like a leader should. Crawford always sounded like the weight of the world rested on his shoulders and sometimes it did. Schuldich waited for the door to slam close to jump up from the couch. Instead of laying there he'd decided to take the time while Crawford was out eating to take a shower and relax, maybe even hit the beach before the American got back. It was Brazil after all and even though the country was not his cup of tea, he wasn't going to enjoy that small hiatus while he could.

****

Crawford let the door slam behind him, mutter strong curses as he strolled towards the beach. Schuldich always unnerved him like no other person in Schwarz. And now he was stuck with the annoying German until they found what they were looking for. Crawford reached into his suit jacket pocket and pulled out the small sheet of mission parameters. The small piece of paperwork listed and prioritized their mission to the fullest; Crawford couldn't have done the job better himself. 

It wasn't a strange or difficult mission he just simply had to find a new person with cognitive abilities to take back to Eszet. The person they were looking for was female, an Empath, and apparently now lived in Brazil. She was to be in her mid to late twenties and was a large fan of the Brazilian club underground. Crawford, not being one to be a club-goer, decided to bring Schuldich, thinking that the redhead would enjoy the Rio De Janero party scene. He forgot that Schuldich despised tropical climates, considering his German heritage. Crawford rolled his eyes; there was no way that he was going to enjoy himself on this trip.

The beach was nice, not too hot and not too humid, it just felt nice. Crawford removed his shoes and socks and carried them along as he strolled down the sandy shore. He hadn't gotten to visit many tropical places in his lifetime; most of his business trips for Eszet being carried out in Germany, Switzerland, and Ireland; needless to say, there weren't many warm beaches in Ireland. He liked this trip, the warm breeze and the salty air reminding him of his times at Rosenkreuz with a good, old friend. He knew why he'd been sent to Brazil, he had to get her back.

Again he stared at the mission parameters: Female, Empath, mid to late twenties, lived in Brazil; why would Eszet want her back after such a long time? It had to be her; she'd always talked about running away to a place like this. She always talked about being free to live their lives the way they wanted. Crawford saw a small piece of damp wood and crouched on it, scratching his head. The mission parameters wanted him to bring this woman back, but if it was her, he didn't know if he could. The moist sand sunk under his toes, the warm waves washed the sticky grains away only for his feet to sink more deeply into the sand. His memories stuck to his mind like sand to his toes and flowed over him like the warm waves on his feet and just like his lower appendages, he allowed himself to engulfed and cleansed by them.

It seemed that his father was unfit to care for him. Crawford winced inwardly; he had horrible memories of his father and his heavy, black leather belt. The man was burly, ugly, fat from alcohol and truck stop diners. Crawford had no mother, she'd died in childbirth and his father hated him for it. But Brad had a picture of her, his mother, the only person that cared enough to give her life for him. Crawford winced again; he had even worse memories of the times he had to go to school with black eyes because his father had gotten too drunk. 

He was a small boy, not reaching a normal boyish height until much later in life. The children at school would beat him just like his father; he didn't have the money, he didn't have the clothes, he lived in a trailer with his drunkard abusive father; but he could always know how to avoid the beatings, the mocking, the molestations and rapes, he always knew. He always knew they were coming, but could do nothing to stop them; he was powerless to his fate. Crawford cringed, the memory of that night too painful. He'd gone to school with two black eyes and a few broken ribs; the teachers were smart they could see around his lies and excuses- "I fell," or "it was only an accident," or "it happened at baseball practice"- no child got not even the roughest of competitors got broken ribs from T-ball practice. 

Crawford, or was that his name then? No, it was something else back then, something that he couldn't even remember; he'd gotten the name Crawford from someone more respectable than his father. He was taken away from his father, not by CPS, not by a foster home, but by a man in a cream suit and glasses. He'd just shown up one day at the front of their trailer. His name was Crawford, Brandon Crawford; a man of distinction. He let the limo sit outside running and waiting for him to return. Brandon opened the door and ordered little Brad to pack his things. All that Crawford remembered hearing was his father's drunken yelling, a silenced gunshot, and the limo pulling off with him inside. He never saw that trailer again.

It had been twelve years since Rosenkreuz trained its last Empath. Other such explorations in this area had not been successful, except for one, Thais. Crawford fingered his necklace with the lock at the end; she'd given him that and only she held the key. Empaths, because of their extreme innocence and ability to feel emotions so strongly, were too mentally weak after going through the Rosenkreuz training; or so the Eszet geriatrics thought after Thais's escape from Rosenkreuz twelve years ago. She'd been with Crawford the day that he'd arrived. He was nine and vulnerable and untrusting and she looked up to him with big, hazel eyes. She didn't have a name so he called her Thais from this story a teacher had read them in class. It meant "the bond." She followed him everywhere, sleeping in his bed, curling her small hands around his wild hair. She was an empath and he a pre-cog and for once he had a family. At first she was like a little sister, as they grew they became more. A kiss here, a hug there, exploration, love, everything that teenagers do in secret trying to hide it from their parents. He loved her more deeply than he could ever love anyone and watched as Rosenkreuz was slowly killing her. She told him about it, he'd witnessed it in his visions, he knew it would happen. She ran away, and he never saw Thais again.

Now, if this was her, if he saw her, he'd never let her go. He'd run away with her and leave Eszet behind and let them track both of them down.


	2. Chapter 2

Author's Note: Thanks for the feedback it really made my day. Review!!!!

Disclaimer: I don't own Weiss or Schwarz or Love of My Life!!! I don't own anything not a thing, so it would be pointless to suie me.

Chapter 2

The thumping bass, the flashing lights, the writhing bodies all moving to some kind of drunken lust-filled beat.  Crawford despised nightclubs. He'd been to a few in his time, once with Schuldich and swore to himself that he'd never return. He supposed that he'd broken his promise. Club Estrela wasn't that bad, it had an area just for people like Crawford; it had a second floor where he could sit and enjoy a bourbon and soda and gingerly sip while Schuldich flirted, grinded and writhed with the common folk. The German had tried countless times to get Crawford to come dance with him, shaking his wily orange-tinted locks and gyrating his small, black vinyl-clad hips in hopes that Crawford would follow. The American simply sat and stared, sipping his bourbon and sighing waiting for Schuldich to give up. This was a mission, not a vacation and he was here to complete the mission.

"Oh come on Crawdaddy, it's no fun without you out there," Schuldich purred into Crawford's ear. The German's honeyed voiced sending a vibration against the hair that caused Crawford to shiver. He grabbed the German and pulled him into the seat next to him, forcing Schuldich to sit down.

"This is not a vacation, Schuldich, we need to start looking for her," Crawford said with forceful disdain. Schuldich smirked.

"A drink first," Schuldich winked at the waitress, ordered a vodka-tonic and turned smirking back to Crawford.

"Do you ever relax, you're always so uptight like there's a permanent stick up your ass," Schuldich smiled slyly.

"The question holds no merit, Schuldich, it is your personal opinion," Crawford simply stated, sipping the bourbon and looking away from Schuldich over the railing to the crowd. Schuldich started to speak but his words were interrupted by both the waitress returning with his drink and the music stopping.

"What is this?" the German asked the waitress.

"That's Emotion, she sings here every week," the waitress answered taking Schuldich's money for the drink. Schuldich smiled and watched as she walked away.

"That woman was having some rather naughty thoughts about you, she and I in a threesome. You think we should take her up on the offer?" Schuldich smiled evilly.

"You need to stop doing that," Crawford said, his facial expression not changing. His concentration was on the small, dimly lit stage in front of him. A buzz in his brain caught him and he felt his heart tightened. Crawford's eyes winced and watered and he closed them trying to stop the sudden sting. He gripped his chest; it was vision. A flash of a woman in a knee-length black dress, brown skin, amber eyes, shoulder length coal-colored locks, and just like that it was over.

"A woman, how interesting?" Schuldich smiled, having clearly read the vision.

"I hate it when you do that," Crawford growled, sipping his bourbon trying to catch his breath. He hated having visions around Schuldich, the man always knew when he was having them and always read them; it was the only time when Crawford's mental shields were down and highly vulnerable. Schuldich always looked for ways to pick Crawford's brain, a Mastermind indeed.

**Who is this woman, Bradkins?** Schuldich purred.

**The Empath I suppose. You saw the vision, you know just as much as I do** Crawford seriously hated when Schuldich did that.

**MMM, maybe if we find her we can let Farfarello have some fun. Or better yet, maybe we can have some fun** Something about this made Crawford angry. He gave Schuldich a dangerous look.

"She belongs to Eszet, Schuldich, if you touch her the consequences will be dire." Schuldich smiled at Crawford furtively.

"Interesting," was all the German said and turned his attention to the stage in front of him.

A portly man stepped onto the stage dressed in a red pinstriped suit and a strange hat. The man had a jolly countenance and a rather boring mind, or so Schuldich thought.

"Senhoras e cavalheiro, estrela bem-vinda do clube. Nós temos um deleite real para você hoje à noite, senhora Emoção dos presentes da estrela do clube," Schuldich barely understood a word that the man said. Being fluent in Spanish he picked up every third word. Crawford however was fluent in Portuguese.

"What did he just say?" Schuldich asked.

"He welcomed us to the club and introduced the singer, Lady Emotion," Crawford stated and sipped his second bourbon and soda of the night. He hated bourbon and soda, but had become accustomed to drinking it while body guarding for Takatori.  That man wanted to be American so badly it almost pained Crawford to work for him.

The lights dimmed, the crowd quieted, the sultry music began to play. A pounding bass, a psychedelic funk beat. An edgy voice almost like Billy Holiday's purred from the microphone:

"I met him when I was a  
Little girl, he gave me  
He gave me poetry  
And he was my first

The crowd practically purred with enthusiasm. Her voice was beautiful, but the crowd couldn't quite see her face. They could make out her outline on the stage and the flowing black hair that lay on her shoulders, but not her face; it was a mystery, she was a mystery.

"But in my heart I knew I  
  Wasn't the only one  
'Cause when the tables turned  
He had to break up

Crawford felt strange; it was as if his emotions were pulling into a certain direction that he was resisting. His body felt calm, like he was resting in his mother's arms. Mellow, relaxed, content, maybe it was the bourbon that was affecting his mind. He looked over to Schuldich, the German looked as if he was about to fall asleep. The crowd was in much the same shape, swaying with the beat of the music and her honey voice; it was almost hypnotizing.

"Whenever I got lonely  
Or needed some advice  
He gave me his shoulder  
His words were very nice"

The words to the song struck him strangely, such beautiful lyrics. It almost reminded him of Thais, the way she used to sing. Her voice had always been beautiful, when she used to sing to him. Those nights when his visions had gotten to be too much for him and he ran to her room and hopped into bed with her. It was a common practice with them, bed hopping. She was his only friend, and he loved her.

"But that is all behind me  
'Cause now there is no other  
My love is his and his is mine  
A friend became the  
  
Love of my life  
You are my friend  
Love of my life  
I can depend  
Love of my life  
Without you, baby  
It feels like a simple true love"

   ****

"Did you feel that?" Schuldich asked as both he and Crawford left the club. The night air was so warm and inviting and Crawford so lost in thought that he didn't even hear Schuldich question. This annoyed the German to no end.

"Crawford?" he asked again. The American once again didn't hear him. Schuldich rolled his eyes.

"Oh fearless American leader, I want you to bend me over a table and fuck me until I pass out," Schuldich purred, hoping this would get Crawford's attention. Nothing.

**Crawford!!!** Schuldich screamed in Crawford's mind. The American turned and looked at him.

"What?" he asked, annoyed to no end, having stopped walking.

"What has you so preoccupied that you just don't answer me when I call you?" 

"You're the one that can read minds," Crawford looked away and continued his pace.

"Did you feel that back there?"

"Of course I did. That's what has me so preoccupied," Crawford sounded miffed and Schuldich sulked.

"I'll leave you to your thinking then," Schuldich merely followed the American to the back of the club trying to read his thought the whole way.

For some reason Crawford seemed to be preoccupied with the woman from his vision earlier. His mind was swirling so deeply that he didn't even notice that Schuldich had entered his mind. Schuldich probed around quietly, trying his best not to be detected by Crawford's usually heightened senses. He tiptoed with great cautions peaking into small memories trying to match them with the main thing that the man was thinking. It was like cracking open a computer, Crawford's mind. There were all sorts of codes and passwords that even Crawford kept hidden from himself; Crawford's mind was even more difficult to navigate than Farfarello's. 

Finally, a small, disheveled memory: Rosenkreuz, a small girl with large hazel eyes and black hair hugging a young boy, they were obviously friends. Schuldich smiled with nostalgia; the young boy must have been a little Crawford. For some reason Crawford as a child didn't seem right. The man carried himself so sternly and erect that Schuldich imagined that he'd always been that way, grown up, cold, unfeeling. This image was a way that Schuldich had never imagined Crawford, loving, happy, and young. Schuldich wondered what made the man become the way he was.

"Schuldich," Crawford said in a way that the German knew he was in trouble.

"Ja?" the German asked.

"Get out of my mind," Crawford said it evenly and with a bit of lost emotion. Schuldich gulped deeply the lump that formed in his throat; usually when he was caught snooping around in Crawford's mind the American would give him a strict tongue-lashing or even worse, a punch in the eye. Now, Crawford seemed a bit calmer.

A rather large man with a bald head guarded the back exit of the club. He stood against the gray metal door; his large arms crossed over his massive chest and eyed both Crawford and Schuldich strangely.

"What do you want?" he asked, his English accented.

"I want to see Lady Emotion," Crawford said callously. Though the American was shorter and smaller, his confidence didn't waver; Crawford held his head higher and looked as intimidating as the bouncer. Schuldich just smirked at the scene.

"Are you one of her friends?" the bouncer asked, noticing the confident way Crawford carried himself.

"I came all the way from America to see her," Crawford answered smartly. The bouncer smiled and moved from the door allowing both Crawford and Schuldich to enter.

"Third door on the left is her dressing room," the larger man shouted after them. Crawford threw a muted merit over his shoulder and made his way down the hallway, Schuldich directly behind him.

"It's amazing how you get even the biggest men to bow before you. You are interesting indeed, Mein Führer," Schuldich rasped down the still hallway. 

The third door on the left, it felt so warm, so inviting, and so right. Crawford stood with his hand poised for knocking above the wood. Schuldich watched as the American hesitated; he'd never seen any trepidation in the man before this moment. So, Crawford could be vulnerable. But Schuldich didn't understand, why was Crawford so torn? This was just another mission, just another job that they would do fore Eszet. They were slaves to that place, meant to do their bidding until death. There was no need for hesitation. They would knock on the door, enter the room, and take her back to the geriatrics just as soon as possible. Why did Crawford seem so unsure about this whole situation? The American had been edgy the whole time they'd been sent to on this mission; edgier than usual. Schuldich had been able to freely read his thoughts almost every time, and now he stifled at this very moment. This woman was the Empath, there was no doubt, and the crowd had bent to her will. There was no need for hesitation.

Schuldich, being tired of Crawford's stalling knocked on the door instead causing an ill glare from the American. There was calm, cool voice that sounded inside of the room, so crystal clear that it almost sounded like two glasses clinking together. She bid them entrance and Schuldich turned the knob slowly, allowing Crawford to enter the room first. The American made a signal that Schuldich was to stay outside, the German didn't move from his spot. The door closed behind Crawford leaving him alone with her.

She was sitting at her vanity mirror, hair in a ponytail, dressed in gray sweatpants and a white tank top. She wasn't paying any attention, only removing the makeup from her face carefully with a cotton ball. She hadn't turned around to see who'd just entered, thinking that it might be her manager or Carlos the bouncer.

"Que é ele?" she asked, her voice a bit hoarse from the performance earlier. It was her, there was no mistaking it. It was her voice and her aura. He moved to stand behind her. There was nothing but silence to her question. She moved the cotton ball from her eyes, stopping removing the eye makeup and opened her amber orbs.

His reflection was staring at her from the mirror, a memory from the past. She turned around, moving so slowly thinking that he'd disappear if she moved too quickly.

"Bradley?"


	3. Chapter 3

Author's Note: Thanks for the review guys. Poor Crawford, pull out the tissues.

Disclaimer: I don't own any of this. Don't sue me, hire me instead.

Chapter 3

"Look Bradley, a redbird," her voice held that warm, sticky, squeaky young feminine innocence. She was looking out of the window, a frosty winter morning causing the glass to resemble that of a beer mug. The scene was void of color, a freshly fallen snowing having covered the entirety of all of Austria. The only joyful variation of white was the cardinal.

_"It's called a Cardinal, Thais," he remembered saying to her not putting down his book to speak; he had a test in his next class and decided to come to her dorm to study. This practice was almost futile with Thais around._

_"Come and look Bradley," she never shortened his name; she only let the length flow off her tongue. She never called him Crawford like so many other students, Thais was never impersonal; he was simply Bradley. He loved the way his name dripped from her lips. He couldn't resist her and denied her nothing; he dropped the book and walked towards the window where she was perched. The bird was beautiful, a rarity at the hell that was Rosenkreuz; it looked like a drop of crimson blood on a pristine white shirt. It was then that he saw it._

_His vision usually involved other things, other people, other situations, never him. In a split second he'd seen his future, a white shirt, glasses, a 9mm, on drop of blood on his suit. He was an assassin, a deadly, heartless assassin. He swallowed deeply and accepted this future self, taking off his glasses to wipe away some of the dust that had collected on them. Thais was none the wiser to what had just occurred. He'd become good at hiding his foresight from others._

_"Why do you wear those things?" she asked, watching him place the large wire-framed spectacles on his face._

_"They take away the headaches," he answered truthfully, then a devilish smirk aligned his face, "besides, don't I look handsome Thais?" a beautiful clinking peal of laughter rang from her lips; the bird flew off, she didn't notice._

That was so long ago, that memory. He'd gotten so used to defining his life in the future that he rarely thought about the past. But there she was, in the flesh, in front of him. Like a forgotten memory, a ghost, something so warm and gently, the nostalgia eating him up inside. She remembered him; after all these years she remembered him. His name still flowed from her lips like a gentle song on a crisp spring breeze. She hadn't turned from her place at the mirror, only eyeing him through the reflection like he was some ghost. In truth he was a ghost, an apparition of the forgotten history of her former self. 

She turned, hesitation evident in every movement, ever muscle reflex. She was so slow, so quiet; afraid that he was a specter and that if she moved too quickly he would disappear into thin air and never come back. She closed her eyes as her body made the turn, wishing, hoping that when she turned around he'd be there. She opened her eyes, she stood, and he was there. They stared blankly at one another; the same confused look on both of their faces. Questions unanswered, memories swirling like that of a whirlpool, anger, resentment, friendship, love.

"Thais," he finally spoke, his voice sounding winded. It was a whisper so quiet, unlike anything he remembered sounding like. Usually his voice was laced with confidence and a sturdy rhythm of power, now he sounded like a small child looking for comfort. He was shaking; he never shook. Not even in his first kill did he shake, he only felt the recoil of the gun. Now, his body was wracked with so much emotion that he could barely think. She nodded to his unasked question. In his voice, just by saying her name, she could tell that he was asking if it was really her. This was really happening, it wasn't a dream.

"Bradley," she said again, not having said the name like that in so many years. And in her voice he still heard that childlike innocence; the innocence he left on that windowsill on the cold winter day, watching that red bird against the virgin snow. In this beautiful woman that stood before him- shoulder length hair, expressive amber eyes, chocolate skin, voluptuous curves- he still saw the young lady that was present in his memories.

_/Look Bradley, a redbird/_

He was frozen in his spot, not being able to move, the memory of that winter day playing in his mind over and over. He watched her though, this newer, older version of Thais, as she moved slowly towards him. Her movements countered, measured and weighed, her shapely hips swaying as she sauntered towards him. There was only a small space between them, but she covered it slowly, taking it step by painful step; a journey into the past a memory, a beautiful, painful recollection.  A few more steps and there she was, under him, in front of him, in the flesh. She couldn't be real; he had to be dreaming, he relished those thoughts, trepidation and doubt in his senses flowing through his head. But she erased all doubt as her small arms wrapped around his torso and she brought her head to his chest. He closed his eyes, holding back the tears that accompanied such emotion. His hands went around her still form and stroked her head, allowing her to water his suit with tears; he didn't care, she was real and there and not a dream.

She remembered it being a lot easier to hug him; when they were younger he had been much smaller, almost a waif. Now he was a grown man, his chest feeling muscled and strong under the suit. She remembered being able to put her head on his shoulder, now she was able to listen to his heartbeat from where her head lay. It was comforting; he hadn't died in Rosenkreuz, the beating organ told her that much. She was hugging him, his scent, his warmth, his feel, everything was right, her Bradley.

"What are you doing here?" she said, breaking away and wiping the tear residue from her face. Business; he'd almost forgotten in this reunion the reason why he was here-Eszet. At once she felt the change in his countenance. It turned from the gentle Bradley that she used to know to the serious, stone-cold businessman that was called Crawford.

"Eszet wants you back," his voice was unwavering. She looked at him with a blank stare. She backed away. That name she hadn't heard or thought of in years. So, he was still under _their_ control.

_/ "I can't stay here, they're killing me," she shouted at him. All the wills of a teenage girl, all the rebellion and stubbornness. She looked defiantly at the older dark-haired youth in front of her._

_"You're overreacting, Thais," he stated trying to calm her. He reached over to her and put two hands firmly on her shoulder; she pushed them off violently._

_"I'm not overreacting, Bradley, I know what I feel. These emotions aren't mine. These emotions are yours, the other students, Portia's, the teachers, everyone's. I can feel the evil in this place and it's killing me." She'd mentioned Portia, the poor girl who'd gone crazy and committed suicide three days ago. Thais had felt her insanity and sadness as she fell to her death from the top of the school building. Thais hadn't left the room in that long until he'd come back from his first class and found her curled up in his own bed._

_"You're fine, Thais. You're too strong for this. Calm down, you know you can't leave this place. We gave our words that we'd stay. We owe Rosenkreuz our lives for taking us away from the hell that we'd lived in."_

_"We don't owe anyone our lives, Bradley. We were too young to consent to anything, just babies, just children. We owe nothing to the people of Rosenkreuz or Eszet, the only thing they did was take us from one level of hell to another. I'm leaving tonight, you can come with me or you can stay it's your choice Bradley." She was serious. Leaving Rosenkreuz was a serious offense. Many had tried before Thais and hadn't survived the bitter cold of the Austrian Alps; many hadn't even made it out of the compound. He looked at her with frightened eyes and watched as she grabbed her things around her, her trademark black wool scarf, some mittens, a small backpack, and a single dainty golden key to the lock that he wore around his neck on a golden chain. His heart caught and suddenly he was shocked by the reality of the situation- she just wasn't going back to her dorm room, she was leaving him. Forever.. He grabbed her, gripping her tightly by her shoulders; he'd never hurt her before that moment._

_"Don't leave, Thais. If you do, I will tell Professor Goldentaug and you know the penalties for desertion," he wasn't serious, only afraid. She pushed him off of her and grabbed her things electing to run from the room, saying only one thing that shattered his world into millions of pieces._

_"I thought we were friends, Crawford?" she fled, a thundering shudder of worn leather loafers echoing down the hallway. She'd called him Crawford only once and the name sounded disgusting dripping from her lips/_

"You still work for Eszet?" she said the name with a tremor of bile rising in her throat. So they'd sent her heart to find her, how ironic. Those bastards would do something like that. Her once sympathetic face was now knit into an expression of disgust and anger. But something bigger took over that emotion- Bradley. He'd survived Rosenkreuz, no scratches, nothing save for the way he carried himself now. This wasn't the Bradley she remembered, this was Crawford the boy, now man that Rosenkreuz had helped create. He was their wanton slave, their dog, and their faithful humble servant. He'd help build Eszet's empire from the ground up, rounding up more faithful followers to take to Rosenkreuz and have them brainwashed for the "greater good." She could sense with her powers that he was cold; that he'd seen death and even more caused it. She walked back up to him, having felt in the beautiful naturalness of the hug earlier, a cold steely artificial substance.

 She felt his chest, an indention of hardness next to his heart. She reached inside of his suit jacket first feeling the worn, stiff leather of the holster. Her eyes never left his, never faltered as her hands traced the shoulder holster all the way to its holdings, cold as ice 9mm. The steel feeling as smooth and as cold as his emotions were right now. She recoiled quickly, stepping back bumping her legs against the chair she'd been sitting in previously.

"What do you carry that thing for?" she asked venom and fear mingled into the question. He patted his left side and let his hand linger there for a moment, feeling the hard indention that was surely hidden from the naked eye. His mind halted for a moment, reflecting on something Schuldich had said to him long ago.

_/All I need in this life of debauchery is my gun. It does what it's told, I can silence it if I want to, and though it doesn't love me it gets me off/_

That German could be crazy sometimes. His orange hair and almost femininely handsome looks didn't at all emanate the insanity that raged within. He was another like Crawford, who'd gone through Rosenkreuz and survived. He was another like Crawford who'd killed and killed and was never bored with the killing. Schuldich loved his work, loved his gun, and loved the killing, much like Crawford. Crawford had kept his mental shields up against the telepath for this whole trip; he knew that Schuldich suspected something. It was only a few times that he'd allowed Schuldich to really pick his brain. The Mastermind usually never bothered with reading him only amusing Crawford with mindless cognitive chatter about what other people's thoughts were, sometimes even sending a few voices Crawford's way. Schuldich was a character.

A friend? No.

A lover? Maybe one day.

A skilled and trusted partner? Definitely. 

Crawford knew that if he'd let the German in on his secrets, on his vulnerability that Schuldich could undoubtedly hold it against him. This situation was threatening to break the fabric on which Crawford had sewn his life. If she came fine, she would be trained and used by Eszet, if she resisted he would shoot her.

"It's my job," he finally answered her question. She swallowed, understanding him completely.

"So, if I don't come with you, that thing will be used on me," she said the word "thing" with such contempt that it almost made Crawford shudder. Almost. 

"What is your answer and you'll find out," he said as coldly as he could muster. He wasn't strong enough to fight Eszet's hold on him. She eyed him with contempt. He reached into his jacket and pulled out the gun, angling it at her head. She swallowed, obviously afraid.

_/Please, Thais, just say yes. Please, so I don't have to do this._

_Crawford, I thought we were friends?/_

He swallowed, the pain of the memory too hard for him to swallow. How could he do this? How could he point a gun at her head like he had so many other nameless, faceless miserable people? She wasn't like them; she was special, his friend, his first love, everything to him. They would run away together, away from Eszet, just the two of them. She and Bradley would run away together, that was until Bradley became Crawford. She walked towards the gun, not afraid, not fearing him or the weapon.

"Alright, I'll go," she said, the gun so close that it was almost touching her forehead. His finger was poised on the trigger, itching to pull it. It was habit, only habit, his mind was screaming at him not to. He was a creature of habit. Slowly he relaxed and dropped the gun, casually and expertly replacing it back in the holster. He fell down to his knees and wrapped his arms around her waist.

"Slowly going insane, aren't you, Bradley." She let him cry onto her sweats. He cried muffled, wet tears for the first time in almost ten years. 


	4. Chapter 4

Author's Note: Okay, I get into some of the things that make Schuldich tick, but this chap is mostly filler. 

         _Disclaimer: I don't own Weiss. Don't sue me, hire me instead._

_Chapter 4_

Berlin 1989 

_It was like the world was on fire, well German anyway. The East and West were now one, forged together by the hearts of the people. The past was now meeting the future. He watched, a small blonde-haired, blue-eyed 10 year old watched from his perch on a tall pillar. He was amazed; the large wall that he'd seen every day of his life, the gargantuan eyesore that he associated with daily life for all of his ten year was now falling. He marveled at how something that seemed so permanent could be removed with one action- a stroke of a pick, an axe, a hammer, and the joyous helping hands of the people moving the once permanent graffiti wall to the ground; it had all been torn to rubble._

_"Come Jörgen, let's go," her warm voice said. She tugged at his small hand and led him back home. They strolled the path that led away from the wall, a place called S__chlechte Seite and even more to the red light district; it was time for his mother to go to work. He couldn't deny it; his mother was beautiful for a gutter rat. With her blue eyes, red hair, and pale skin she was the pride of her pimp. Wrapped up in her skanky faux fur jacket she dragged Jörgen to her small corner and stood._

_"Now you know what to do Jörgen, tell them to come to me so momma can make some money. And don't look, listen, or special listen to what we're doing," his mother said to him smiling and ruffling his hair. She wasn't much older than him, only about twenty-three, patting a ten year old's head and chewing some gum; most people would have thought they were sister and younger brother, never mother and son. She was a good mother though, always had food for them, always had shelter, never let him see what she was doing with customers, but he knew, he'd always known, and he was curious. He'd done this for a while with her, waited with her while she turned tricks. He smiled at he knowingly, and started looking for prospects. _

_A limo pulled up, driving slowly and easily down the street sizing up each girl. She smiled down at him and Jörgen performed his mental magic. The limo pulled over and the window went down._

_"Hey big spender, you need some company tonight?" his mother did the rest. The man in the car signaled for her to hop in. Usually she'd just take her customers to the back alley and get it over with, leaving Jörgen to stand and wait, this was different. She looked at her son waiting on the curb and then back to the man._

_"Hey, mister, can my son ride in the front?" she asked. The man nodded and she told the little boy to hop in the front. The limo pulled off._

_"That's your son in the front?" the man asked, the partition of the limo down so that the front was visible from the back._

_"Ja," she answered._

_"Do you come together?" it was a disgusting request and she knew it, but he pulled out a wad of American hundreds and as much as she wanted to reject, she couldn't. She swallowed her pride and what little morals she had left._

_"Jörgen?" two blue, piercing innocent eyes stared back at her, "come back here with momma." Her voice held all the care of a mother singing her child to sleep at night. He smiled and climbed in the back. The American let up the partition. Berlin, 1989, it was always funny to him how things that seemed so permanent could be destroyed with just one action._

Schuldich sat up from his dream. He was sweat-soaked, his orange hair sticking slickly to his forehead. He was hard, as he always was after having that dream. He hated having that dream; the memories of his childhood were just too much for him to bear. That was his first time with a man and a woman; he shuddered just thinking about it. Ever since that day, he'd loved sex and used it to his advantage.

He stood from his bed, eyeing the small clock next to it; it was only a little after midnight, he'd gone to bed early. He walked towards the bathroom stumbling over his favorite pair of shoes as he did; he slipped on his boxers and turned on the light. He winced at the contrast between light and dark and stared at himself. Now he remembered why he'd gone to bed early. He'd been drinking. It had gotten so boring around the Schwarz house without any more missions from Eszet and with Crawford trying to find them a good job that he didn't know what to do with himself; so he just bought himself two large bottles of Smirnoff and called it a night. He was paying for those transgressions with one hell of a headache.

Stretching slightly and popping his back he walked into his bathroom and turned on the shower. It was too late for him to go clubbing but he still had this damn hard on. He needed a fresh body.

Nagi? No, too young.

Farfarello? As much as Schuldich loved mixing pain with pleasure he wasn't going that far.

Crawford? Maybe some day, but not now. The fearless American leader was too wrapped up with Thais, or as he liked to refer to as The Fucking Distracting Bitch!!! Schuldich snorted and examined himself in the mirror. He lifted his chin tracing the bit of blonde stubble that had developed in his sleep. He eyed the roots of his hair, golden traces coming to the forefront; maybe instead of sex he could dye his roots tonight. Or maybe he could…

No, he couldn't even think of that. Crawford would kill him; no Crawford would torture then kill him if he even so much as laid a finger on her pretty black hair. Schuldich relished the thought.

_/Crawford torture is not a bad way to go/ _The German smiled fiendishly at his reflection in the mirror. He mentally weighted the pros and cons.

**One**: he had a hard on with no other way to get rid of it other than self-manipulation or a prostitute. That was definite con.

**Two**:  Nagi was too young, Farfarello was crazy, and Crawford had a stick up his ass instead of something a lot more pleasing. Definite Con.

**Three**: There was a defenseless female Empath sleeping soundly in the extra room. Pro.

**Four**: He hadn't seduced a woman in a long time. Pro.

**Five**: Crawford would torture and kill him but as he'd already decided that that was a pleasant way to die. Crawford torture definite Pro. Death, well that was a crapshoot. He was an assassin; he was going to die anyway. Besides, the look on Crawford's face when he found his beautiful, innocent, perfect Thais riding his favorite German assassin was just priceless. He smiled fiendishly again and stripped of his boxers and hopped in the shower. He would have to look his best if he was going to corrupt the innocence that was an Empath.

****

Schuldich walked into the living room to find both Nagi and Farfarello awake, sitting on the couch and watching TV. Both men looked from their movie towards Schuldich who was dressed in a pair of black vinyl pants and mesh black shirt. He held a long black trench coat over his shoulder and stood waiting to be praised. Both Farfarello and Nagi completely ignored him, looking back to the television. 

"What are you up to tonight?" Nagi asked, knowing that Schuldich could be up to nothing but trouble when he was actually wearing more than a pair of boxers around the house.

"Where's Crawford?" Schuldich asked, walking into the kitchen and grabbing a glass. He reached into the refrigerator and grabbed the carton of orange juice and poured himself a glass.

"He's out having a meeting with some perspective clients. He left about an hour ago. Where are you going?" Nagi informed and asked.

"Why do I have to be going somewhere, Nagikins?" Schuldich asked, walking over to the small Japanese boy, whispering seductively into his ear. The boy recoiled slightly and narrowed his eyes.

"You're wearing more than a pair of boxers around the house, that's why? What are you up to Schuldich?"

"Where's the Empath Bitch?" Schuldich smirked. Nagi rolled his eyes.

"You know what Crawford said, if anything happens to her…"

"I know, I know, relax Liebling, nothing is going to happen to her. I just want to have a little fun. Farfarello, can I borrow one of your knives?" Nagi tensed at the question and Farfarello nodded.

"They're in my room, but don't use the new set. Use the gold-plated set," Farfarello seemed to smile. Nagi looked from the German to the Irishman with equal bemusement and disdain. Schuldich smiled and headed towards Farfarello's room but not before asking again where Thais was. Farfarello nodded his head towards her room; she must have been sleeping.

She'd been quite a sleeper since her continuing training with Eszet. It was said that Empaths took training a lot harder because of the constant wave of emotions that wracked them as they did. She'd been with them for more than three weeks and hadn't really emerged from her room other than to eat or go to her training or to run and sleep in Crawford's room. Schuldich was assured that they were fucking. Schuldich was more than jealous. He was under the impression that Crawford would have chose him as his lover if it hadn't been for this intrusion. She was from the past; Crawford needed to understand that. 

The loving glances, the kind words or encouragement, the soft touches to her hand and the small of her back; it was like Crawford was a different man. Schuldich gnashed his teeth together; it was all so irritating.  

He thrust the door open to Farfarello's room, the black-painted walls, the simple black sheet bed, and the lit candles everywhere. Ignoring the decoration, Schuldich walked over where he knew Farfarello kept his knives. The gold plated set sparkled in the moonlight, the beams dripping sensually over the bullion. Schuldich reached and pulled out his particularly favorite piece of cutlery. It looked like a fancy letter opener, but it was a small double-edged stiletto. Schuldich ran his finger sexually over the sharp blade, his finger catching and cutting over the knife. Blood, crimson and pure, dripped out of the cut and down his finger. Schuldich watched with morbid curiosity, as his white finger was marred with the scarlet liquid; he placed the digit in his mouth and sucked, tasting the metallic, slightly sweet flavor. He smiled; now he understood why Farfarello loved this so much.

The German stood and exited the room and walked back to his own to collect some of the things he would need for this particular seduction. He expected her to struggle, to scream, to panic and to fight against his will, but he wouldn't be refused tonight. When he returned to the living room he found Farfarello curled up under a blanket still watching the same B-horror film that he'd been watching earlier. Nagi had obviously gone to bed, not wanting to be awake when Crawford got home and found out Schuldich's handiwork.

"Hurting God tonight, Schuldich?"

"I plan to hurt God until he cries for mercy," Schuldich eyed the knife and smiled evilly. He started his way down the hall smirking at his evil plan.

"Don't hurt Crawford while you're out hurting God, Schuldich," Farfarello said after him, but the German didn't hear him. Schuldich was already down the hall.

It was funny how the apartment was set up perfectly. The living room was the great dividing line between who was important and who was expendable. There were three rooms on the east wing of the apartment, perfect for the underlings Farfarello, Nagi, and Schuldich. Crawford, of course, got the Master Bedroom and two extra rooms, one that he'd converted into a study and the other that was now used to house his lovers. Schuldich snorted; the German had rarely gone into any of these rooms. In fact, he couldn't remember the last time that he'd been Crawford's room or his study.

He knocked lightly on the door; there was no answer. He knocked again. Again, there was no answer. He pushed the door open slowly, slightly, where only a sliver of light could creep in. There she was, sleeping soundly on the bed, the crack of light illuminating her peaceful face.

_/How adorable… Bitch!!/ _ Schuldich thought as he quietly entered the room. He didn't want her to wake up yet; he had other plans. He nimbly tiptoed to the side of the bed and looked at her. Smiling down he noticed a small bottle of pills and a glass of water; Sleeping pills, Crawford must have provided her with some to help her sleep. 

_/Good, I didn't want her to wake up yet, anyway./_

The German pulled a few things out of his pocket, two scarves, a feather, and Farfarello's knife. He pulled the warm covers from her sleeping form revealing that she was only wearing a small tank top and some panties. He smiled.

_/A perfect body; good job Crawford/_

He pulled her limp hands from where they were tucked next to her and tied them both gingerly and tightly to the post above her. Slowly, he ran a hand from her face to her stomach, testing to see how asleep she was. She must have just taken the sleeping pills before Crawford left. The German lowered his head to kiss her lips; she didn't stir. Schuldich smiled.

_/Now is time to have some fun./_


	5. Chapter 5

 Author's Note: It's getting a little bit racy in this one. I hope I stayed within the bounds of my PG-13 rating. Maybe I should up it to R for this one. What can  I say, Schuldich is a sensual guy. There is some SchuldichxCrawford stuff in here a bit, but nothing serious. Enjoy, I should be wrapping this one up soon.

Disclaimer: I don't own Weiss, don't  sue me, hire me instead.

Chapter 5

Thump, thump, thump. Crawford, bored to the gills, drummed his finger across the pristine white tablecloth. He knew this habit was considered rude in some circles and also that to outwardly show your boredom wasn't a good sign that you were listening, but this client was absolutely dull. He was a CEO for a pharmaceutical company out of Russia and he was under the strangest notion that he was going to need a bodyguard while in Japan. Crawford foresaw no action in the future; guarding this man would have been more dull that guarding Takatori, and when they guarded that pompous windbag they had Weiss to worry about. He sighed. The client had been going on and on about how nice Russia was and how Crawford should visit sometimes. 

The American reached for his second bourbon and soda and pulled it up to his mouth to sip. He closed his eyes as he inhaled the amber liquid; his senses engulfed first by the distinctly sweet smell of the drink, then by the strangely deceiving bitter taste. He opened his eyes, transfixed with the ocher fluid; it seemed to be changing shape. His heart choked, his eyes watered, his throat got dry, it was a vision. The Russian client didn't even notice.

/Black vinyl surged heatedly against silken sheets. Brown and ashen skin seemed to blend together. Orange hair flopped messily, cascading around and about the two lovers entwined on the bed. His hand reached toward the nightstand, grabbing a golden knife running it seductively against the supple skin of her inner thigh, lowering himself to lick the blood from that sacred place. She moaned, enjoying the feel of the pain. Her nails in his back, his lips on her throat, her lips in between her pearly, white teeth…/

Crawford jumped from the table, his breath was caught somewhere in the vicinity of his stomach. He practically yanked the spectacles from his face and wiped them quickly. Straightening his tie confidently he looked back down at his stunned client.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Platun, but something has come up." Crawford quickly excused himself.

_/I'm going to kill Schuldich/_

****

Darkness and a mess of muted orange hair was all she saw. Her eyes flicked open, blurring a bit in the wakeful darkness. She could tell that the covers had been thrown off in her sleep and she reached down to pull them back up. This was futile, her arms were restricted; her eyes flicked open to see Schuldich on top of her. He wasn't touching her, not yet anyway. He was straddling her, knees on either side, hands on either side of her head, a mischievous smile curving his lips. She pulled defensively against the ties but was stilled by defeat.

"Where's Bradley?" Schuldich winced at the way she said his first name. She hadn't called him Crawford since she'd been here and he didn't show signs of forcing her to either. Pushing her thighs apart and eliciting a cry from her, Schuldich sat back on his haunches. He reached over to the nightstand and pulled the knife to his mouth, licking it and testing its sharpness once again. A small ooze of blood and saliva mingled on the golden blade. Her eyes widened in startled shock and Schuldich smiled. He reached in deep and read the honey that was her thoughts.

_/What does he want with me? Why do I feel this way? Why am I…wanting this?/_

He smiled evilly. Just as he expected, the poor Empath was taking in his emotions unintentionally. He was turned on to the highest point. How could he not be? A defenseless, beautiful prey lying under him, her thoughts sweeter than any other thoughts he'd ever tasted, she would give her body willingly, hating herself later. It was the best kind of sex; the type of sex that made you feel guilty afterwards. No love, just a quick, angry, sensual fuck; it was more human than monogamy. 

He brought the knife up to her lips to silence her, rubbing the sharp blade deliberately across the silken petals.

"Open your mouth," he practically purred into her ear, his body wracked with dirty, conceited passion. This was jealousy, anger, and betrayal; all because Crawford had fallen in love a long time ago and she decided to step back into his life. He would make it so that she would never want to be near Crawford again; he would make her so guilty that she wouldn't be able to look the way of the stoic American again. 

She did as he said opening her mouth and allowing the knife to slide over her tongue and taste his blood as it mingled with hers. Her mind and her body were slowly giving over their own emotions and melding with Schuldich. She despised being an Empath, hated not knowing what was hers and what was someone else's.  She tried to fight it, tried not to give in, but there was nothing she could do. Just as long as Schuldich was getting off she was going to get off as well.

"Schuldich, please…stop," she squeaked out, writhing under him. His hands were on her breast, squeezing and kneading. Under his intense emotions she was a needy, sultry, wanton slut. He brought the knife from her lips down to her inner thigh, sliding it sensually down, cutting the supple skin there, he watched as a long line of blood started to trickle downward towards the bed. He smiled wickedly and lifted her leg over his shoulder. She looked at him with pleading eyes to stop; this only spurred him onward. His tongue started at her ankle and moved up languidly, the warm, sticky blood and his gummy saliva joining in a taste that wasn't too unpleasant.

"You taste good," he said, his mouth working higher and higher on her thigh. She writhed under him, a feeling not so much passion as lust rising in her mind. She couldn't deny herself, his actions felt good, but she was Crawford's. A tear dropped down her cheek in protest, as her mouth moaned and exhaled sensually in pleasure under the German's ministrations.

Schuldich took the knife, dropping her thigh, having licked all of the blood clean from the chocolate flesh. He licked his lips, removing any residue that may have collected there. He ran the knife down the middle of her chest, cutting the thin cotton of the white tank in a pristine, straight line. He lowered his teeth down to her neck and bit; she moaned, trying to bite it back, but the pleasure too much to bear. Pulling gently at the two sections of the tank, he ripped the small piece of cotton apart, reveling in the humble breasts before him. He smiled; he hadn't been with a woman in a long time. 

He traced gently around each breast, careful not to cut the beautiful orbs. Lower he traced the knife, watching as blood spurted slowly from the cuts around her navel. He lowered his mouth, dipping his tongue in and out of her navel, causing strange shivers to rush over her body. She jerked hungrily against the ties, trying to get loose; he knew this meant that she wanted him, but he would torture her mind and body some more.

"You want me," he stated, his warm breath tickling her stomach.

"No… only Bradley."

"Your mind and body say two different things, Meine Schönheit "

"It's you… you!!" she yelled. This was sweet torture. Schuldich lowered the knife to the left side of her thin, cotton panties and cut the fabric as if were only one string.

"Please stop," she begged, tears rushing like hot fire down her cheeks. He did the same to the other side. He lifted her and removed the small garment, leaving her cold and naked before him. He made quick work of his mesh shirt and vinyl pants. He'd become an expert at removing the vinyl from so many encounters with other lovers.

"You want this," he whispered again, kissing her navel, "say you want this." She shook her head, clenched her eyes and watched as he held his length in his hand, preparing to enter. He hovered over her, staring her in the eyes, listening to her jumbled thoughts. He lowered his cheek next to her and whispered into her ear. She could feel his need pressing against her stomach and she held her breath in fear and anticipation.

"Being an Empath is a bitch, ne? Just allow yourself to be free, Thais. Brad is a killer now; he would have killed you without remorse if you hadn't come with us. This is his world now, he won't be here to save you, so let me take you… take you away from this suffering that you feel, this fighting in your mind. Say you want this," his voice held a tremor of sensuality and dominance. She was breathing quickly, her eyes were clenched so tightly that tears could barely fall. She was tugging against the ties so hard that the headboard was shaking; yet she hadn't responded to his demand. Schuldich growled in frustrated impatience. Grabbing her hips, he readied her body for his intrusion.

"Fine, I'll just take it," he said about to thrust.

It happened in slow motion. Her mind reeled with fear, her body racked with want and need; she did want this, but she couldn't bear admitting it. She prepared herself mentally for Schuldich's raping, knowing that her body had been ready long ago. She felt his hips thrust forward and threw her head back instinctually, but there was nothing, not a strange intrusion, no filling, just a void. 

She opened her eyes and the scene was filled with an utterly discernible violence. Crawford stood behind Schuldich, the barrel of his 9mm buried into the German's temple. Schuldich was in his same position, still looking at her, still smirking evilly, still aroused.

"Come to join us, Crawdaddy?" he asked sarcastically. Crawford forced the gun harder into the German's temple. Schuldich mentally noted that he would have a bruise there later.

"Get up," the American said coldly. Schuldich did as he said.

"Why don't you shoot me, show her what you really are?" Schuldich teased, Crawford threatened with his eyes, pushing the German outside of the room. He looked over to Thais who'd turned on her side into a makeshift fetal position; her body had only been marred a bit by Schuldich's twisted fetish. He pushed the gun harder into the German's temple, as hard as he could without killing him.

Once he left the room he told Nagi to get up and untie Thais and to get her dressed and to take care of her wounds if they needed care. He and Schuldich headed down to the padded room where they kept Farfarello when the Berserker was bad or where they tortured people. Schuldich knew the consequences and accepted them proudly.

****

He spat blood and laughed back up at him. The America towered over Schuldich, having hit him almost six times with the butt of the gun. Schuldich grabbed his jaw feeling that it was slightly misaligned and grinned back up at Crawford. This was too much fun to deny himself.

"Why so angry, Crawford, we can't share?" Schuldich knew he was traveling dangerous ground, but he enjoyed getting under the American's skin. Crawford grabbed Schuldich by his arms, the German still being naked from earlier and now even more aroused. The Oracle pinned Schuldich against the wall, banging the German's head over and over into the pads, then throwing him back to the ground. Schuldich laughed maniacally and Crawford advanced towards him again. The German lifted his hand in protest and Crawford stopped in his stride, only to see that Schuldich had extended his middle finger in an act of defiance.

In a surge of monstrous anger, Crawford lifted the Mastermind against the wall and used his face as a punching bag. Blow to the eye, Schuldich laughed. A double blow to the gut and chin, Schuldich spat blood but continued to laugh. An annoyed Crawford threw the lithe German to the ground and kicked him in the stomach.

All Schuldich could do was laugh. The pain was searing, but he could do nothing but laugh at the way Crawford was reacting. The American kicked him again, in the face, the chest, the gut; Crawford stepped on his back, mashing the German into the concrete floor. Schuldich laughed louder, the maniacal guffaw ringing heartily throughout the room. Crawford breathed heavily he looked crazy- hair mussed, glasses falling slightly from his face, white shirt stained with Schuldich's blood, sleeves rolled up- he meant business. He grabbed Schuldich by his hair and pulled the German once again against the wall so that the man could stand.

"What's so fucking funny, Schuldich?" Crawford whispered in a tone that held no feeling. It would have made a normal person shiver but to Schuldich it caused his body to become even more aroused. Schuldich laughed and weakly wrapped an arm around Crawford's neck.

"You're messing up my pretty face," Schuldich licked the blood from his lip and smiled. Crawford punched him again in the beautiful nose. Schuldich grabbed his nose but Crawford grabbed those hands and pushed them back against the wall, holding them there.

"Scheiße, that hurt," Schuldich spat. Crawford looked at him with venomous eyes Schuldich smiled a full grin, his bloodied teeth exposed to the American.

"I told you not to mess with her," Crawford said, still holding Schuldich's hands against the wall. The German didn't resist, only stared at Crawford with mixed emotions.

"Do I ever do what you tell me to do?"

"Leave her alone, Schuldich," Crawford threatened, letting go of the German's hands but still holding the small man against the wall. 

"Why do you have her here? She doesn't belong in this world. You should have killed her. You cannot hope to reclaim who you once were; you cannot live in her world and she cannot survive in yours," with one swift movement Schuldich wrapped his arms around Crawford's neck and brought their lips together for a messy, bloody, heated kiss.

Amber eyes in the dark watched from the entrance. Her heart caught in her throat, her breath quickened as she watched two men, her Bradley and Schuldich kiss heatedly in the dark. He hadn't pulled away or resisted, only stood there and allowed the wily German to violate his mouth. An intake of her breath broke the two men from their moment. Crawford stared towards the door, then back towards Schuldich. He pulled the gun from its place in the shoulder holster and pointed it at Schuldich.

"You disgust me, Schuldich," he said, taking the safety off and balancing his finger on the trigger. The German stared down the barrel of the gun for the second time tonight, smiling all the while he did it. Crawford tensed, his mind jumbled with mixed feelings and emotions.

_/Do it, Crawford, but do not deny who you are/ _Schuldich whispered mentally to his leader. The American closed his eyes and inched the trigger slowly back.

"Bradley, No! Stop!" she said, running behind Crawford and grabbing the gun from behind. The American dropped the pistol to his side. Schuldich let out a sigh of relief and watched the scene. Thais's body was arched around Crawford's unbelievably, her head almost buried into his back; now he owed the bitch his life.

"Come on Bradley, let's go to sleep," she said, grabbing the pistol from his hand. Schuldich knew his punishment; he would have to stay down here and think about what he'd done. He watched as Crawford and Thais left and locked the many locks behind them, but before the last lock on the door sounded, the German whispered a few words into the American's mind:

_/You cannot live in her world, and she cannot survive in yours./_


	6. Chapter 6

Author's Note: After last chapter I'd thought I'd let up on you, but it's been such crappy weather lately that I just can't write anything happy or even close to humorous. Blame it on the weather.

Warnings: God this chapter has the works, just be prepared to be somewhat disturbed.

Disclaimer: I don't own Weiss, so don't sue me, hire me instead.

Chapter 6

He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand removing some of the caked blood from his face and tongue. The aftertaste of Schuldich- sweet like honey, bitter like blood, musky like the grass after the rain- still lingering in the back of his throat. The German was good at surprises; he was always able to beat Crawford's pre-cognition with some strange or crazy stunt. The kiss had thrown Crawford completely off guard; the American's baser instincts would have caused him to stay pinned to the German but Thais was there and she was his love.

He needed to brush his teeth to remove all traces of Schuldich, to forget that this night had ever happened. He reached his room, Thais in front of him, watching him carefully with her amber eyes. He could see the piercing orbs in the dark; he made a line for the bathroom to take away the German. The Schuldich flavor was quickly erased by the taste of honey-cloyed lips soft and supple. The petals moved so innocently, so languidly against his own. Her small frame was slightly pushed against his, her warmth heating his chilled body. He hadn't touched her this way since she'd been there. His hands wrapped around her waist and they stood in the middle of his room for what seemed like an eternity.

She pulled him closer, instinctually backing closer to the bed, the backs of her knees bumping into the mattress causing them both to tumble backwards. A giggle escaped her lips as they landed softly on the bed, him careful not to crush her beneath him; she watched as his glasses flew from his face and landed on the pillow behind her. He looked down at her, the amber eyes joyous, her cheeks dimpled into that of a smiling, giggling female; it was just like when they were children.

/ "Why are you in here, Thais?" he asked, waking up feeling the sudden intrusion in his bed. She cuddled up next to him, curling her hand around his black hair. 

"I couldn't sleep, Bradley," her voiced was soaked with exhaustion and within minutes she was asleep. He wrapped an uneasy arm around her, blushing as he did, and tried to fall asleep, her smell of warm apples surrounding him./

He ran his hand down her cheek, silencing the peal of laughter that had escaped. He traced over downy cheek, over her velvety lips and lowered his head to kiss her. Her arms wrapped around his pulling him closer. This was right this was what he wanted. The kiss, a once innocent one, became rougher, harder, more demanding. He slowly pushed his tongue into her mouth, exploring, searching, dueling. She moaned; he continued. He dug his hands into her thick, russet hair, pulling her mouth harder into his. He needed her passion, he needed her innocence; he wanted to take all that she was into himself and regain who he once was. In his mind he saw it, as clear as day, the moment he'd forgotten how to live.

Her soft pants and sighs spurred him into rougher action. He reached down to the belt of the terrycloth robe that she wore and thrusts it open. She was still naked and her body was warm. His lips lowered to her neck, nipping and sucking the sensitive skin. Shivers of pure pleasure tingled down her spine. He took her hands in his, pulling them up over her head and sticking them there. He shrugged out of his shirt, throwing the bloodstained white cloth to the ground.

 She broke her hands free of his, running them sensually down his muscled chest and wrapping them around his back. Slowly she massaged his scalp, surging her fingers through his down, raven locks. Her hands moved down from his hair to his neck, traveling the path to his back. He grabbed her hands before they went too low and pushed them back up to the mattress. Again she broke free, starting a new path, this time running her hands over his chest and down the defined abdominal muscles. He arms went to wrap around his back and explore the skin there and he again stopped her, pinning her wrists on the mattress. She giggled and pulled away, not being one to fall into his trap again. Her hands quickly darted to his back, waiting to feel the delicate, downy skin there.

What her senses returned was the opposite of what she was expecting. Her fingers sent to her brain the feeling of bubbled skin, scarred and marked. Her eyes widened and her breath choked. He quickly pulled her hands away. They broke from one another, him careful to keep his back hidden from her eyes.

"W-what happened, Bradley?" she asked, watching his quick retreat from the bed. He backed towards his closet and picked up a shirt pulling it over his head with quick force.

"I don't think we should do this," he noted calmly, but his stance gave his hidden emotions away. He looked like a female panther protecting their cubs, frightened and defensive. Feeling his mixed emotions- his fear, his anguish, his insecurity- she smiled and tried to calm him. She pulled the robe closed completely, cinching the belt tightly.

"It's okay, Bradley, we can just go to sleep," she said calmly. She motioned to the bed and he relaxed, his shoulders sinking a bit. He turned and reached into his closet, pulling out a shirt and a pair of boxers for her. She got them and put them on quickly, watching him all the while slip into bed. She got in next to him, laying her head on his chest and listening to his heartbeat. She listened to his breathing slow, felt him relax, felt his pulse decelerate and realized that he'd fallen to sleep. He shifted in his sleep onto his side and facing her. A bit of his shirt flew up revealing his back to her. She choked on her breath looking at the sight. She calmed herself and pushed the shirt down and buried her face into his chest, trying to hold back tears, trying to sleep.

****

**Flashback**

/It was so empty without her in his bed. Fifteen years old and he was already in love. He missed her that was true and from what the rumors were she'd escaped from the compound. The people of Eszet were still looking for her, searching all the twists and turns of the Austrian Alps for her body. It was on that day that Rosenkreuz made a decree to never instruct Empath's again. 

He was lying in his bed, his head thinking about her, the way she used to smile, the way they'd skipped class during the first snowfall and had a snowball fight. The argument they'd had only a few days earlier. His hand went to his golden necklace, twisting and tangling his fingers in the metallic strands. He lowered his hands down to the lock; only she possessed the key. He'd never see her again; she'd always have the key. 

He rolled over in his bed causing a distinct scent to rise from his sheets. It was her scent; she always smelled like an orchard or a fresh apple pie. Her scent always reminded him of Christmas, hot apple cider and spiced apple with cinnamon, sweet memories of a coveted childhood mingling with the reality of hell in Rosenkreuz. He should have run away with her, forgotten about this place.

"Where are you, Thais? Don't you know that I'm here all alone without you?" he whispered into the dark of his room. Funny, the room never looked this dark at night before. He sighed and closed his eyes, trying to get some sleep. The drastic ticking of the clock was keeping him awake.

Tick.

His mind was a jumbled mess, thinking about Thais, wishing that she was next to him.

Tock.

He had a test in the morning; he needed to desperately get some sleep.

Tick.

He'd been walking around like a zombie for the past few days, not being able to sleep without her in his arms. 

The sound of the clock was joined by the persistent thumping of rubber-soled shoes down the hall. Far off whispers becoming clearer as his closed eyes and tired mind picked up on it. Someone must have been in trouble, that's the only time he'd ever heard the sound of people at this time of night. It was customary at Rosenkreuz that when a person misbehaved for them to be taken in the middle of the night by the staff and punished. He was glad that the sound never came for him. He rolled over in his bed and tried again to sleep. The ticking getting louder, the thumping getting closer, the whispers sounding like screams in his ears; he couldn't sleep, he mashed the pillow over his head and growled.

His door burst open, three darkly clad figures entering and pulling the covers from his body. They grabbed him, kicking and screaming, dragging him down the hall. They'd finally come for him.

****

Slash. The whip cracked, the blood spilt against the walls and against his face. He recoiled, feeling the leather slice open his back. 

Crack. The man wouldn't let up; he continued to beat him no matter how he whimpered. The second hit of the whip falling slightly under the already torn area of the first. He wouldn't let them see him cry; he wouldn't give up, all he did was grit his teeth and bare the pain.

Whack. The third lick falling over his left shoulder, blood splattering over his chest. He screamed then, his eyes watering so he couldn't see clearly. The whip stopped.

"Student PC243, I'll ask you again," he knew the voice of the man asking was Professor Goldentaug, "where did the disappearing Empath go?" It wasn't as if he could answer, he was wondering the same thing himself. There wasn't a sound that escaped his lips, not a breath, not a whimper, nothing. He was lost, the feeling of the pain taking control of his senses. Goldentaug was upset with his silence and with a slash of his black-covered hand continued the whipping.

"You must learn respect, like all students. When you are asked a question, you will answer. When you are told to do something you will do it. Is that clear?" Goldentaug yelled over the sound of the whip. The young Crawford said nothing only held his breath from the pain. The whip stung his back one more time, then two more, then five, then ten, he lost count, his body losing blood, his back numb of feeling, his mind deadened. Goldentaug walked back up to him, took his hand and slapped Bradley so hard that his face stung. The man behind him continued to whip him, careful not to catch Goldentaug while he slapped poor Bradley around. Goldentaug punched him in the eye, forming a round black bruise. The older man held Bradley's chin in his hand.

"You're nothing, do you hear me. You're just a number. Worthless, soulless, you're nothing. My dog's shit is higher than you. We took you away from your trailer and made you into something. We gave you an education, gave you food, clothes, a roof over your head. You repay us like this, by withholding where that little, deceiving bitch is. You deserve this; you're less than garbage. We made you, don't ever think that we can't break you." Goldentaug added a punch to the stomach for good measure, making sure that Bradley would understand. The whip still cracked on his back, his eyes barely staying open. He should have passed out three times over from the pain but he couldn't.

Just as suddenly as he'd been dragged from his room, the whipping stopped. Little Bradley fell, his knees giving out on him. His fifteen-year-old body not being able to register any feeling, except for a stark numbness. Goldentaug lifted him by his hair and forced him to stand. As soon as he was on his feet, the larger teacher threw him back on the ground; Bradley cowered on his knees. Goldentaug stood in front of him and undid his black pants, letting them slide to his ankles, allowing his state of arousal to spring free. Bradley looked up, frightened, angry, and half-dead. The other men that had been hiding in the shadows surrounded him; he lowered his head crying in shame and knowing exactly what was going to happen.

"Don't act like you've never been in this position before. You're garbage, you're trash. Don't be so coy; you're below innocence. There is no innocence in Rosenkreuz. Now, you'll do as I say."

They did this for days and weeks later, torturing him, raping him, abusing his mind. It was that night that he'd discovered his inner strength, his ability to stay silent. If he said nothing, always did what he was told he didn't feel pain. He didn't feel pain, he didn't feel remorse, he didn't feel innocence he was just numb. 

Three days later he was sitting in his room, the same cardinal that Thais had loved so much perched on the small branch. He toyed with it, feeding it some sunflower seeds he'd gotten weeks before. It hopped into his room, begging for more food, he caught it in his hands and squeezed it until its little neck broke. A trickle of red blood escaped where the bone plunged out of the body. It mingled with the red feathers, mingled with the white flesh that held it and he felt no remorse. That was the last cardinal he ever saw./


End file.
